Shoes
by TheLateNightStoryteller
Summary: He didn't wake up and she let out a tiny sigh of relief, ready to turn off the lamp and leave before she realized he was still wearing shoes. He couldn't sleep with shoes on. FitzSimmons oneshot set after season 1.


Simmons was walking down one of the many interwoven hallways of their new base side by side with Triplett and Skye, ranting as if her best friend were channeling himself through her. The old version of him, the way he'd been before, half because of the incredible amount of chronic stress she'd been subjected to recently and, perhaps, half because he hadn't been there to voice her frustrations and maybe she'd needed someone doing that.

"It's as if he doesn't know the difference between science and magic," Simmons exclaimed, exasperated. "'Make me an antidote Simmons, make it in the next half hour and I need seventy seven doses of it.'" She mimicked their leader's earlier demand. "I'm sorry sir, but I'm not a magician, we don't have all the materials, I can't make something out of nothing. I'm so sick of having nothing to work with!" She cried. Then she sighed, realizing that she was being childish. "I didn't say that, that was..."

"Hey, if you need to vent get it out," Skye encouraged, sympathetic. "Just don't let big C hear you."

Simmons paled at the thought, on top of the trouble she'd be in, their leader, their friend, had been through enough already. He didn't need her criticism.

"You did make it though," Triplett reminded her. "Just in time too, we all knew you could." He winked at her and she smiled.

"Only after the two of you got me the materials," she put in. "I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't-" she stopped, mid step and turned her head to peer into the room they were passing.

It was a sitting room, a place where the team could relax when they had the time, occupy the hours of hiding with board games and DVDs. There were two sofas and two cushioned chairs arranged in a three sided square around low glass table, positioned to face the television on the wall, beside the door. Fitz lay on a sofa, asleep, an old, broken piece of machinery held by one hand. He'd managed to turn one screw in about half way before he'd fallen asleep but it was crooked. Now the machine lay on his chest, a hand resting on it as if it were a teddy bear, his other hand hanging over the side of the sofa above the screwdriver he'd dropped onto the carpet.

The others stared with her, seeming unsure what to do.

"Should we-" Skye began hesitantly.

"I'll take care of it," Simmons cut her off, quiet, eyes on her sleeping friend. He looked almost peaceful, though even in sleep his brow furrowed slightly in frustration. "Go get some rest," she instructed.

"Is that an order Doctor Simmons?" Skye teased in a low voice, attempting to break through the tension.

Simmons chuckled softly at her. "It is Skye, you too Trip."

"C'mon you little ninja," Trip called, motioning for Skye to follow. "You'll want to be refreshed for tomorrow if you're gonna have any hope of keeping up with me."

"Whatever slowpoke," Skye giggled, shoving him lightly before skipping ahead. "I think you're the one who needs sleep," she added playfully, whispering so as not wake Fitz.

Simmons watched them go, good naturedly knocking into each other as they walked away, glad that they were doing alright, or at least had the energy to pretend they were.

Then she turned her attention back to Fitz and, slowly, walked into the room.

A lamp cast orange-yellow light into the space, dim compared to the white fluorescent lights in the hall. It made everything seem warmer than it actually was, the base was chilly and as she gently lifted her friend's fingers off the machine part she noticed they were freezing.

That wouldn't do, he couldn't sleep unprotected from the cold, so after she carefully placed the part on the carpet, slowly so she wouldn't make a sound, she rose to retrieve the blanket from the other sofa. As she spread it over him she wondered how he would feel if he knew she was doing this.

He didn't like help, didn't want it as much as he needed it. If she had to zip him up he wouldn't look at her, if he forgot a word he became angry when she reminded him, wanted to figure it out on his own. Most times he ignored her, turned his back on her, drew away unless he had absolutely no other choice, which happened often enough for her to have a fresh memory of his face at least, even if it was dark and frustrated, the light gone from his once shining eyes. Even if it hurt to see it.

Simmons stood back to examine her work, deciding to risk tucking his hanging arm under the blanket. He didn't stir.

Was it her imagination or had his expression relaxed? He could have been his old self, dreaming soundly in his bed, except he didn't have a pillow. He needed a pillow.

She took a square cushion from the arm chair and, very slowly, with extreme caution, lifted his head to slip it under.

'If he wakes up you can run,' she told herself. 'He's tucked in now, it's OK to run away.'

How far they'd fallen, that she feared what he'd say, the way he'd look at her if he caught her helping him.

He didn't wake up and she let out a tiny sigh of relief, ready to turn off the lamp and leave before she realized he was still wearing shoes. He couldn't sleep with shoes on.

'You're going to wake him,' she scolded herself. 'Just go.'

'But he can't sleep with shoes on,' she argued.

So, with the care of someone diffusing a bomb, she wiggled off one shoe, then the other, revealing a pair of wooly grey socks which she left on to keep his feet warm.

There, she was done. He would be comfortable now. Still she lingered over him, feeling as if she'd missed a step.

'Oh why not, I can still run away after if he stirs,' she decided. 'He'll think it was a dream.'

She kneeled beside him, smiling at how serene he suddenly appeared and, just barely, just enough to feel the tickle of his skin, brushed her lips against the space under his hairline, above and beside his loosely shut eye.

"I love you Fitz," she murmured, tears hiding under her bottom eyelid, threatening to overflow. "You're my hero." 'I miss you,' she added silently.

What she did next she did without really knowing why. She took the tie from her hair, shaking her head to loosen the stiff locks, and placed it in his hand, pressing her palm gently against his fingers to curl them around it.

Then she took in his face one last time, assured that he was warm and safe, and rose to turn off the lamp.

/-/-/

Fitz heard his friends wondering what to do with him. Their voices woke him but he pretended to be asleep because he didn't want to talk to them, not after they'd seen his stupid, crooked screw.

Simmons had decided to 'take care of it.'

'Wonderful,' he thought bitterly. 'I've become a situation, what is she going to do exactly? There's nothing to do, they should all just move on.'

He heard soft footsteps before he felt her move his fingers, take the broken machine from his broken hands, and still he kept his eyes shut, not wanting to see her pity him. He knew how he must look, like some wounded animal, sad and pathetic. Fitz didn't want Simmons to see him like that, think of him that way, but she did. Poor helpless Fitz, we need to take care of him. Poor sad Fitz, it isn't his fault he's completely useless. Poor pathetic Fitz can't even fall asleep without help.

He hated it.

He wasn't smart or strong or talented anymore he was just a burden, someone to feel sorry for.

She spread a blanket over him, did she really think he couldn't take the cold? Then she lifted his arm and tucked it under, just to be sure none of his sad, fragile body was subjected to something so horrible as a light chill. He might shatter into pieces, burst into flames. Did she really think that none of this was waking him up? He decided he'd better try to look very asleep, just in case. The last thing he needed was for her to try speaking to him, then he'd hear the all too familiar gentleness in her voice, as if she were talking to a three legged stray dog.

His head was lifted and a pillow slipped beneath it. It was nice, soft, but he'd have rather she left him the way he was. He didn't need her help, he could sleep all by himself thank you very much.

She rose and he thought she was finally going to leave until he felt something tugging at his feet.

Seriously? How the hell did she still think he was sleeping? She wasn't that good at being stealthy. Why was she taking off his shoes? Now he was going to need to put them back on later. He held in a groan of frustration.

Still she lingered and wondered what else she could possibly need to do. Was she going to put up a sign? 'Breakable, handle with care.' or 'Sleeping Fitz, if you need help contact Simmons.' Maybe she was debating injecting him with a tracking device, just in case he forgot who and where he was and wandered out looking for Hydra agents to kidnap him. That way, at least, they wouldn't need to waste as much time searching for him.

She didn't do any of that. Instead, so lightly he barely felt it, she kissed his face.

"I love you Fitz. You're my hero." she murmured sadly and his bitterness melted away, liquefied into a miserable, hollow sense of something precious having been torn out, leaving him empty.

For all his anger he missed her. He missed roshambo and finishing each other's thoughts and improving each other's ideas. He missed his friend, his partner, the bond they'd once shared and there was an ache in the vacant space it had occupied.

And he was her hero. That had almost blown his cover, sent a jolt down his spine, warmed his icy heart. He wasn't weak and pathetic to her, how could he have thought that? Maybe it was something other than pity that made her rush to his side when he stumbled or gently whisper the words he couldn't find. Maybe she just missed him as much as he missed her, maybe she just wanted to be there for him.

He didn't entirely understand what she did next. Something was placed in his hand, a loop of rope-like fabric, a hair tie, and his fingers were curled around it. What did that mean? What was she trying to tell him? 'Simmons was here?'

He heard her rise to her feet again, preparing to leave, he didn't want her to go.

Opening his eyes, he grabbed her hand, jerkily, his grip loose and she froze, eyes wide, appearing unsure what to do. He smiled at her and tugged her towards him.

Silently, she sat back down on the carpet, watching him uncertainly, but allowing a tiny smile to light her beautiful face.

"Did you... want... to watch a DVD?" He invited shyly, releasing her hand and struggling to sit up.

Her smile broadened and she nodded.

"That would nice," she said softly, staring into his eyes.

They chose one together, Fitz shaking his head until she held up something he knew they'd both enjoy. Then she popped it in the player, turned it on, and sat beside him, careful not to touch him, keeping a respectful distance as if worried this were some spell she might break.

He shuffled closer, allowing their arms to touch and, sluggishly, shakily, placed the hair tie in her hand, awkwardly pushing her fingers over it.

"I think... maybe... you'll need this... more than me," he told her slowly.

She shook her head. "Keep it."

Their eyes met, ignoring the previews, and he thought maybe he understood why she had given it to him.

"OK," he agreed, allowing her to tuck it into the pocket of his shirt.

His hand found hers again and he did his best to wrap his fingers around her palm.

"I love you too Simmons."


End file.
